Those Silly Little Boys
by Miss Arbitrary
Summary: "Stand up, Hermione." Malfoy said.  This was possibly the first time she'd ever heard him use her first name. "Why, because you fancy a duel?"  "No, because I was planning to kiss you and I think it might be awkward to lean across, the way we're sitting."


**Contains explicit sexual content, just a hint of dubcon, and also features two minors. That's all the warning you get, mostly because it really isn't that bad. Genre listed as angst, but it's really quite light and happy. At least . . . by my standards. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. You'd better, damnit, because I was up 'til five this morning typing up this wretched little bit of smut so it would stop plaguing me! Anyway, reviews thrill me, just for the record, and I intend no sort of infringement. Carry on.**

Hermione was, as everyone knew, not the sort to run off into the night dramatically, recklessly, idiotically. She was level-headed, sane . . . boring. She knew very well what her problem was. She was such a good little witch. A good friend, a good student. If asked, even those among her worst enemies in the school would say that she was the smartest person of their generation. Smart. Hermione laughed aloud toward the lake, drunk on frustration and the chilly night air. She was so damned smart, and yet she had been making the same stupid mistake for more than four years. She took a moment, took a deep breath, and appreciated the irony. Brainy, know-it-all Granger, trapped in a quiet hell befitting a very stupid, issue-riddled girl. The two men in her life (though her mind spat out the word _boys_ as a correction, after tonight's immature behaviour), the people she'd do anything for, they took her for granted. She was a sister, a font of insight and information, warm but platonic solace after a trying adventure. That was, until two a.m. when the common room was empty and Ron had had one too many Butterbeers. Or after an exhilarating Quidditch match when Harry's cheeks were flushed bright and Hermione was the one nearby to partake in celebration.

It wasn't the ill-advised and meaningless snogging that upset Hermione, not really. Nor the way things would be the next morning, like nothing had happened. Hermione knew that at fifteen, none of them knew what exactly they wanted and she wasn't exactly pining for either of them. It was days like today, however—one week before Hogwarts' Second Ever Yule Ball—when the both of them refused to step up to the plate, that really got to her. This was a repeat of last year. When Dumbledore had announced several weeks prior that, because the previous year's Yule Ball had been such a success, it was to become a Hogwarts tradition, Hermione had suffered a vague feeling of foreboding. It turned out to be right.

"Well, aren't you looking lovely tonight, 'Mione!" Harry had said when she came back from the library around ten o'clock.

"Shut up, Harry, no point in brownnosing."

Harry had stepped on Ron's foot and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "Give it up, Ron, she'll go with me. They don't call me the chosen one for nothing."

Ron had rolled his eyes. "Look, Hermione, d'you have a date for the Yule thingy?"

Hermione tried to look dignified. "Maybe."

"That means no!" said Ron, pumping his fist in the air. "So, it's your choice. You can go with Harry here, but if you ask his date from last year I think you'll find that her toes are still sore from him stepping on them,"

"Ron," Hermione had seethed.

"Or you can go with me!" Ron looked all too confident.

"Am I really your last resort again, both of you?" Hermione had tried to sound more exasperated than hurt, but it didn't work. Neither of them seemed to notice.

"Come on, 'Mione, last year you were definitely not our last resort. After you turned out to have a date, we both did find girls to go with. They just weren't our first picks, that's all."

"First? Is that what I am? Now, I know that's not true."

"Seriously, Hermione, what's the problem?" Harry had asked.

"Maybe I'd like just the barest hint of enthusiasm when somebody's asking me to a dance, did you consider that?"

They looked at each other quizzically. Hermione turned on her heel and left the common room. Over her shoulder, she said, "if you follow me, I will hex you."

The simple wording of her threat must have worked, because Hermione soon found herself alone around the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Definitely out of view from the Castle, and yet she wasn't afraid. Sensible Hermione was absent. Well, maybe just distant. She knew she was overreacting. Boys will be boys, that was what she usually told herself. They meant no harm by it, they just didn't see her the way she'd like them to. She was something that would always be there waiting for them, and to some extent Hermione was happy to be just that. Not romantically, however, and she didn't think either of them understood that. She put her back against a tree trunk and sank, against it, to the ground. There was no snow where she sat, because of the tree's great boughs. They also kept the moonlight off of her, so that a passerby would have difficulty seeing her there.

A passerby who didn't happen to be a more-than-decent Seeker, that is. He frowned slightly and changed direction so that he was walking toward her, a tall and striking figure in his black cloak against the silver-painted grounds.

She heard him approach and her heart caught in her throat. Harry? Ron? No, not so familiar. Her mind flashed to the possibility of danger instead, until she recognized the young man walking toward her. The warning flare didn't completely extinguish within her; this boy may still mean danger, but it was the sort dulled by familiarity.

"Cold night for stargazing, isn't it, Mudblood?"

So, he was going to dive straight into the heavy-duty name-calling, then? Flippant use of the pejorative was ruining its impact. Not that Hermione cared what he called her, particularly not right now.

"Who needs stars, now that I have your smouldering, chiselled features to gaze upon, my dearest Malfoy?"

"I'm going to pretend that was sarcasm. I try to avoid vomiting, as a general policy."

Hermione had already grown weary of the hateful small-talk, in her present state. She sighed and put her head in her hands, willing Malfoy to just go away.

"You haven't asked me why I myself am out here at this late hour, Granger!" Malfoy feigned shock. When she didn't reply, he frowned again.

A moment later, Hermione felt fabric rustle very close to her left arm, and looked over. "Malfoy, what are you doing?" she asked, through gritted teeth.

He raised his eyebrows innocently. "Sitting."

"Beside me."

"So it would seem." He paused. "So, what's the matter, Granger?"

Hermione clenched her jaw, thinking. Why on earth would he even ask that? Possibly to gain leverage over her? She found that she really didn't care. In this moment she realized that aside from Harry and Ron, she had absolutely no one to confide in. No wonder this whole situation had had such a toll on her. What the hell, she thought. It had been pent up too long, it had to come out somehow.

"It's complicated. Things between Harry and Ron and I."

"Please tell me you're talking angsty, repressed love triangle and not sweaty, confused threesomes, because I think I may have nightmares."

Hermione stared, wide-eyed, and then giggled despite herself. "Neither, actually. I'm not in love with either of them, nor they with me."

"Ah, but they're in love with each other. I always suspected as much," said Malfoy sagely.

"I wish it were that simple. No, really, it's just that . . . they're silly little boys who don't know what they want. And they seem to think that I'll be waiting around as a last resort for them forever."

"Last resort?" Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen such a candid display of emotion on Malfoy's face. Certainly not shock, like she saw before her now. "_Last resort?_" Malfoy repeated.

Hermione looked down at her lap and found that warm tears were pooling in her eyes. Two escaped and ran down her face, probably frozen before they reached her chin. She didn't feel the cold, only the humiliation. Malfoy was sure to mock her mercilessly, any second now.

"Stand up, Hermione." Malfoy said.

This was possibly the first time she'd heard him use her first name. "Why, because you fancy a duel?"

"No, because I was planning to kiss you and I think it might be awkward to lean across, the way we're sitting." He got to his feet in that infuriatingly graceful way he had and stretched out a hand. Hermione shrunk back against the tree trunk, mouth open in shock. "Planning to _what_ me?"

"Kiss you. Well, first I was going to say some terribly sentimental things, unlike me, you know, in a very intense tone. You're ruining the moment, Granger."

Hermione knew this must be a joke. She got to her feet, telling herself that she did so in order to walk away from him.

"Good, now, listen up. You're an insufferable know-it-all, Granger. You're self-righteous and naive and of course, a filthy muggle-born. I hate you on principle, got that? But you're brave. You're kindhearted and loyal and sweet. Little Miss Gryffindor, true and proper. I can't tell whether it makes me sick or . . . something else. You don't need to be told that you're smart, but apparently you do need to be told that you're worth so much more than the crap those fools have been dishing you." Here was the intense tone he had promised. It made Hermione's heart flutter and . . . no, it couldn't be. Yes, her knees were weak as she looked into his hard gray eyes. He leaned in so close that she could feel the slight warmth coming off the sharp line of his jaw. "You're extraordinary, Granger. You're beautiful. Fuck it, you're sexy." He brought his lips to hers. She was too stunned to take in all of what he'd said yet, let alone to resist. She let him kiss her, not quite kissing him back but hoping he'd never stop. He did, he pulled away, his chest rising and falling perceptibly as he both paused for air.

"Wait, sexy?" Hermione said, her mind trying to catch up.

Malfoy groaned, tilting his head back as though to look at the sky. "It pains me to say it, Granger, but I'm afraid it's true. I've seen you develop from a dorky little girl into . . . " His eyes roved up and down her body as if to say 'into _this_.' "The fact that you don't even know it only makes it worse, you know. The way you walk," he bit his lip. "Even carrying half your own weight in books you make boys stop and stare. That's why I have such a hard time believing that Potter and Weasley don't spend their free time grovelling at your feet."

Hermione was starting to smile. "I make boys stop and stare? Do I make _you_ stop and stare, Malfoy?"

"You know me, always discreet. It wouldn't do for people to see me gawking at a mudblood bitch like you, of course. But," he pressed his body against her, forcing her into the tree trunk. She felt the warmth of his sinuous muscles combating the cold weather. "Even as I look away from you in the hallways, even as I say something cruel or simply rude to you, I'm always thinking about bending you over and—"

"Whoa, Malfoy," Hermione wasn't sure whether she was objecting to the way he mixed offensive slurs with somewhat dirty compliments, making it all sound undeniably delicious to her, or to the way he seemed to have pressed himself even more tightly against her.

"You make me so _hard_, Granger. What would my father say, if he knew how often I jacked off to thoughts of someone like you?"

"Malfoy, if you're screwing with my head—"

"You know I'm not faking, Granger. Of course I still hate you. You still hate me, too, and don't you forget it even for a second. But I want you. And you want me."

Hermione had snapped back to her senses somewhat. "No, I don't."

Malfoy's mouth curved up in a characteristic smirk. "Liar."

"Seriously, Malfoy, get off me."

"While raping you does have a certain evil appeal," Malfoy said. "Give me thirty seconds to convince you. If you still want to go then, I'll let you run back to those 'silly little boys.' You words, not mine."

Hermione looked at him somewhat sternly, or at least, she tried to. She didn't have much time to get this across before Malfoy caught up her lips with his again. For someone who seemed to put a lot of effort into appearing cold and lifeless, he was so _warm_. Hermione felt his tongue, he practically shoved it down her throat, and it was surreal. She was making out with Draco bloody Malfoy, with the promise of more to come. She didn't have to wait long for that, either. Where had her cloak gone? How had he unfastened it without her noticing? And her robes, now, too, in a bundle on the ground. She stood there against the tree in only a long-sleeved t-shirt and a short denim skirt. Why wasn't she cold now? Her train of thought was disrupted when Draco's hand—his left, she recalled that he was left-handed—invaded her shirt and stroked its way up her back. His fingers rested on the clasp of her bra for a moment, before deciding against undoing it. Full-on nudity wasn't necessary here. He shoved his hand instead under her bra, kneading her breast with no hesitation. Hermione gasped as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger so roughly that it was both hard and sore within seconds. She was quite aware that it was not the only thing hard and sore around there, however, as Draco's body continued to press into hers. She felt his hand leave her breasts and her lips pouted around his momentarily. He laughed quietly against her mouth and she felt it rumble in his chest, and then his hand was in a new place and the pout disappeared from her lips. "Oh, god, Draco," she moaned.

"_This_ is what it takes to get you on a first-names basis? Sheesh," said Malfoy, knuckle deep in her. "Anyway, it's definitely been thirty seconds, you still wanna get back inside the castle where it's warm?"

"It's warm here," panted Hermione. She knew now that he had cast a charm on them to keep them warm despite it being the middle of December.

"That it is. And I take that to mean that I have your total consent to do with you as I wish now, Granger?"

Hermione tried to stare at him steadily, but just then he scraped his fingernails over just the right spot and she was shuddering around him, feeling bark dig into her back as she bucked up against the tree. She found herself fumbling at his belt buckle, fingers numb of course not with cold but with pleasure. He shooed her hands away and did it himself, fluidly dropping his pants and boxers, too.

"You're a virgin," he commented.

"What makes you think—"

"You are. This will hurt."

Hermione paled, realizing he was right. Her body stilled and suddenly she felt claustrophobic, trapped. What was she _doing_, here, with _Malfoy_? "Wait, I don't know if I want to—"

Before she could finish that sentence, Malfoy was a couple of inches into her and showing no signs of stopping there. He had the presence of mind, at least, to clamp a hand over her mouth to muffle her scream, lest (heaven forbid) Hagrid come running from his cabin to investigate.

As Malfoy sank up to the hilt into her, Hermione's mind distracted her from the pain with the only thought it could conjure: the looks on Ron and Harry's faces should they come across her now. How betrayed, how jealous, how utterly confused, how angry. They would eventually be sorry, too, that they hadn't treated her better all along. Hermione felt a horrible sort of satisfaction knowing that her virginity was one thing that wouldn't wait around for those two forever. She'd just given it to the one person they hated most. Hermione grinned through the pain. She never knew herself as a masochist, but it was so refreshing! Ron and Harry would never have hurt her like this. Her body rode roughly against the huge tree, and she knew she'd have scratches on her ass and lower back tomorrow, not to mention bruises on her waist where Draco gripped her forcefully as he pounded into her. This went on for a long time, and though she'd been very slick with desire to begin with, a soreness was starting to develop within her, and she was fairly certain that some of the scratches on her back were bleeding slightly. It was all so crude on the outside, but Hermione felt the place where his flesh joined hers again, and again, and again. That was not crude. She felt the spot deep inside her, what felt like her very centre, being slammed into with a force like an ocean tide. Before she knew it, his thrusting at _just _the right angle had brought her up to the same place he was at, and they both breathed in heavy gasps, filling the night air with visible breath and plaintive little mewling noises, though Hermione realized those were coming solely from her. "Hermione, sweet Jesus, you're almost there, aren't you? You have no idea what you're doing to me," whispered Draco in her ear. Her inner muscles were clenched so tightly around him, she didn't know how he was able to continue moving. She was on the edge of climax and for the third time that evening, fear struck her. She could not imagine why. "It's okay, Granger, you can't always be so . . ." he thrust particularly deep, grinding up into her with his pelvis. "Uptight. Let yourself come." He seemed to know the moment she had complied, probably because she cried out his name and sank against the tree, his strong hands and thrusting the only thing holding her up. And then it was his turn. She felt his entire body tense, from his back which her calves were wrapped around to his visibly tight jaw, and she felt the release of this tension as Draco spurted his load deep inside her.

He stayed within her a long time, as though delaying the moment when he'd have to go back to reality. The reality in which they hated each other.

"Those things you said earlier, they were just to get into my pants, right Malfoy?"

His eyes were closed but he smiled a genuine little smile and kissed her forehead, still sheathed within her. "You weren't even wearing pants, Granger."

The warming spell seemed to be wearing off, because Hermione felt the winter wind biting at her ass. Draco pulled out of her and she felt just a tiny bit cold and empty, even as he smoothed her skirt back into place and fastened her cloak around her shoulders. "Thank you," she said, knowing that he had truly meant everything he'd said.

"Run along now, little Gryffindor. It's past your bedtime."

"You never did tell me why you were out here in the first place," said Hermione.

Draco's eyes were closed off, not malicious but very distant once again. "Why would I share something like that with you, you muggle-born tramp?"

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy. You keep up the charade, but I for one will know just what you're thinking of every time I pass you in the halls from now on." She smiled wickedly and grabbed his package through his jeans, fondling it carefully but vigorously for just under two seconds and planting a kiss on his pale cheek before setting off toward the castle. She ached inside, but she didn't have to try very hard to hide it as she walked; she felt infinitely lighter and once again smirked at the thought of what Harry and Ron would say. Why, she was feeling downright giddy at the thought. Perhaps Draco had imparted some of his personality when he'd fucked her.

They were both waiting up for her, as it turned out. She saw them sitting in armchairs in the common room, talking in low, concerned tones to each other. The old Hermione would have felt touched by this show of consideration. They had been worried about her, how sweet! She could go and hug them, tell them all was fine, be good ol' reliable Hermione once again. Instead she walked—hell, she swaggered—calmly across the common room, toward the staircase leading to her dormitory. "Good night, boys."

She paused long enough for them to scramble out of their seats and then she turned around with an expectant expression. Not a meek, feelings-hurt, waiting hopefully kind of expectant expression. Her face clearly said, now, "What, is there something you wanted?" This look, coupled with the way her face was entirely too flushed and her hair was loose around her shoulders, possibly even tangled, not to mention the flashing brightness in her eyes . . .

They spoke in unison. "Where have you been?"

Then, just Harry, "We were worried sick!"

And Ron, "It's past midnight!"

And Harry, "Wait, are you still mad at us?"

And Ron, "We didn't mean to—"

And Harry, "Why are you just smiling at us like that? And really, where were you for so long?"

Hermione shrugged. "Amazing how the time flies. Let's see. I took a walk down by the forest, and I sat and moped for a while, and then . . . oh, right, Draco Malfoy fucked me up against a tree."

They gaped at her.

"Really quite exhausting, he's certainly got stamina. So, good night again, Harry, Ron."

In the morning, Hermione joined her friends at the breakfast table, wincing only slightly as she sat down. Her hair neat, up off her shoulders as usual, and clothing hid the rest of the evidence of the previous night's activities. She'd even brought a stack of books down to breakfast, and she idly skimmed a chapter of Hogwarts: A History (there was something to be said for old standbys) as the boys stared at her, mid-chew. Eventually, probably after much elbowing of each other and furtive glances, they worked up the nerve to speak.

"Morning, Hermione."

"Good morning, Harry."

"Did you sleep well?"

"That would be an understatement. I was completely exhausted. Interesting dreams, though."

Ron choked on his pumpkin juice.

Fate picked that moment for Hermione and Draco to catch each other's eye across the Hall. Hermione contained her smile and instead nodded curtly. They hated each other, after all.

Neither of the boys sitting across from her missed this exchange. Hermione took a bite of toast.

"She's pulling our legs." Ron said to Harry, after a moment.

"Definitely. There's no way she'd—"

"Yeah, I mean, she's Hermione. And he's _Malfoy_. Pffft. Really had us going there, 'Mione." Ron laughed uneasily, clearly not having much success at convincing himself of this.

Hermione only raised her eyebrows. "Well, I've got to get to class. See you guys later." She picked up her books and walked a little bit slower than necessary toward the entrance to the Hall. She didn't need to turn and look to know that Harry and Ron were both watching her go, mouths agape. Maybe Malfoy had been right about her making boys stop and stare when she walked by. She glanced at him once again on the way out, but he was too busy looking at the Gryffindor table, appreciating the utterly dumbfounded expressions on the faces of his two most infuriating adversaries. It seemed that they'd both benefited from last night's debauchery. Well, besides in the obvious respects. Memories of hands and lips and whispered words rushed back to her, making her blush.


End file.
